Philip broke the seal. The slight crackling of the vellum as he unfolded it echoed in the silent room. Drawing a deep breath, he lowered his gaze to the paper.


Lord Greybourne,

As you requested, I have thought upon the matter we discussed during our meeting. Indeed, I have thought about nothing else. Given the evidence you presented regarding your friend’s wife, along with your expertise and strong belief in the power of the curse, and the fact that I have suffered from a fall and the headache, I cannot deny my fear that if we were to marry, the third event would come to pass. Therefore, this letter is to inform you that I will not marry you, and for my own safety, I have taken steps to ensure I shall not be forced to do so. I apologize for the inconvenience my not coming to the church will cause you, but as you pointed out during our meeting, this is the best way. Please advise my father that I am well and safe, and that a letter from me explaining everything awaits him at home.

Lady Sarah Markham


Philip had barely finished scanning the few lines when Lord Hedington tapped his quizzing glass upon the vellum and demanded, “For God’s sake, what does she write? Is she all right?”

Philip raised his gaze and met the duke’s eyes. “Yes, your grace.”

“Then why the devil is she not here? Where is she?”

Calm descended over Philip, and he drew his first easy breath in what seemed like months. She’d jilted him. Thank God. “I do not know exactly where she is, but she does not wish for you to worry about her safety. Still, I believe the main point is that she is not here. Nor is she coming.”

“Not coming?” the duke thundered. “Balderdash. Of course she’s coming. She’s getting married. Here. To you. Today.” He yanked his watch fob from his waistcoat pocket and snapped it opened. “Five minutes ago.”

“I’m afraid not.” Philip handed the single sheet of vellum to the duke, who snatched the paper from his fingers. Seconds after scanning the words, the duke’s fierce scowl darkened further.

“What the devil is this ‘curse’ she refers to?” he asked, passing the paper to Philip’s father. Philip noted that a wide-eyed Miss Chilton-Grizedale, whose complexion had taken on a faintly greenish hue, had sidled closer to his father to peer at the letter.

Before Philip could reply, his father looked up from the note and their eyes met. The icy anger and disappointment in his father’s gaze hit Philip hard. Harder than it should have. Certainly harder than he wanted to admit. Damn it, he was no longer a green lad who sought his father’s approval.

Father, instead of directing his ire where he clearly wanted to, turned the full force of his frigidly calm fury upon Lord Hedington. “This is an outrage. What sort of addlepated, beef-witted chit is your daughter, Hedington? How dare she write that she will not marry my son. And you.” He swung his attention toward Miss Chilton-Grizedale, pointing at her in an accusatory fashion. “I engaged you to find my son a suitable wife, not some daft flibbertigibbet who babbles about curses and would cry off on her wedding day.”

Anger flashed in Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Lord Hedington’s outraged voice cut off whatever she was about to say.

“Addlepated? Beef-witted?” the duke fumed. “Daft? How dare you refer to my daughter in such terms, especially when it is clear from this note”-he snatched it from Philip’s father’s hand and waved it about like flag- “that something your nincompoop son said to her set her on this disastrous course.” He swung his attention to Miss Chilton-Grizedale. “And how dare you have arranged a union for my daughter with such an unsuitable man. You assured me that the scandal three years ago was merely a misunderstanding, that Greybourne was respectable in every way. Yet he’s clearly frightened my Sarah with this idiotic chatter, and his cravat is an utter disgrace. One should never trust a man sporting untidy neckware.”

Crimson rushed into Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s pale, greenish cheeks, and she lifted her chin. “Before you gentlemen say anything else you might regret, or toss about any further accusations or aspersions upon my character, I believe we should hear what Lord Greybourne has to say about the matter.”

Hmmm. Quite the imperious piece, although he couldn’t help but applaud the woman’s level-headed nerve. He’d be hard-pressed to name many men who would show such spirit and common sense in the face of two such angry fathers.

Clearing his throat, then adjusting his spectacles, Philip drew a deep breath in preparation of telling the very undone Lord Hedington and the greenish-skinned Miss Chilton-Grizedale the same story he’d related to his father two days ago upon his return to England.

“Something happened while I was in Egypt, something which prevents me from marrying Lady Sarah. Or anyone else.”

After several seconds of deafening silence, understanding, edged with steel, dawned in Lord Hedington’s eyes. “I see. You fancy yourself in love with some woman you met abroad. That is unfortunate, because your duty demands-”

“This has nothing to do with another woman, your grace. The problem is that I am… cursed.”

No one spoke for several long seconds. Finally Lord Hedington cleared his throat and, after casting a surreptitious glance at Miss Chilton-Grizedale, said in a low voice, “It is, I believe, quite common for men to occasionally suffer from such an… affliction. My daughter’s abundant beauty will surely rekindle your… urges.”

A choking sound erupted from Miss Chilton-Grizedale, and Philip’s father paled. Philip actually felt a blush creeping up his neck. Bloody hell, he could not possibly be having this conversation. He dragged his hands down his face. “Your grace, I am not impotent.”

There was no mistaking the duke’s, or Philip’s father’s, relief. Before anyone could speak, Philip continued, “I am speaking of a curse, one written on a broken stone tablet I discovered just before sailing from Alexandria.”

Philip’s mind drifted back to Alexandria, to the day, months earlier, when he’d found the stone. Squinting against the bright sun, breathing in the hot, dry air that felt and smelled like no other… air redolent with the scent of history and ancient civilizations. Air that he would miss with an ache he couldn’t describe when he departed the following day for the country of his birth. To honor an agreement he’d made a decade earlier. An agreement he could postpone no longer, now that his father was dying.

He’d been nearly ready to quit for the day-his last day-but his reluctance to put away his tools-for the last time-to wipe the dust and dirt and sand from his hands-for the last time-propelled him to continue. And minutes later…

“The day before I was to depart Alexandria for my voyage back to England, I made a discovery-an alabaster box. Inside the box was an intriguing stone with writing upon it in an ancient language. As ancient languages are of special interest to me, I was especially excited about the find. I took the box and retired to my cabin on board the Dream Keeper in preparation for our departure at dawn. When I deciphered the stone, I realized it was a curse.”

Lord Hedington’s countenance resembled a thundercloud. “What sort of person places any credence in such nonsense-”

“It is not nonsense, your grace. Such things were very common in ancient times, and indeed still exist today in many cultures.” Philip drew a deep breath, then continued. “Based on the translation and my estimation of the age of the stone, which is called the Stone of Tears, I judged that the curse was most likely cast during the first or second century B. C. I’ve deduced that it was composed by a man who, just prior to his marriage, discovered that his betrothed had betrayed him with another. The curse was cast upon the man’s betrothed, and it called for three events to occur-two during the days just prior to the wedding, and the third two days after the wedding. Before the wedding, the curse decreed, the bride-to-be would suffer a non-life-threatening fall, then a severe headache. I believe these were meant to symbolize her ‘fall’ from grace and the ‘pain’ the man’s bride-to-be inflicted upon him. Then, two days after the wedding, the bride would… die.”

Silence followed his words. Then the duke lifted his quizzing glass and peered at Philip. “So you believe, based on some scribblings on an old piece of rock, that if you were to marry my daughter, she would die two days after the wedding. Does that sum it up?”

“Yes, actually, that sums it up perfectly. The curse specified that the bride of anyone who read the stone would suffer the curse-or his wife, if he were already married. And I have read the stone. At first I held out some hope that perhaps the curse had been broken over the centuries, but unfortunately recent events dash that hope. You will recall that two days ago, Lady Sarah suffered a non-life-threatening fall, and then a severe headache. Just as the curse portends.”

“Coincidence-”

“It is not, your grace. It is proof which cannot be ignored, especially when coupled with the missive I received several hours after my return to England.”

“Meaning precisely what?”

“During the first week of our voyage home, I pored over the stone, looking for any small clue I might have missed. When not in my cabin, I kept the stone hidden so as not to risk anyone else finding and translating it. However, several days into our journey, while studying the stone, I heard a loud booming noise. Concerned, I ran from my cabin.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I thought I’d hidden the stone, but apparently in my haste I failed to do so. When I returned, I discovered one of my colleagues, Edward Binsmore, in my cabin. He’d come to check on me due to the noise. When he entered my cabin, he saw the stone on my desk and, being as knowledgeable with the ancient languages as I am, he translated it. We both instantly realized the ramifications of him doing so, as Edward had a wife awaiting his arrival in England.”